A Little Game
by suspect tomatoes
Summary: John Morrison always thought his sexiness was gift. That is, until it turned into his curse. Dark fic.
1. Chapter 1

They said to write everything I knew. It would help them figure out my case. To help figure out who did this to me.

Well, there were so many facts about myself, I couldn't pick just one. So I wrote down the first thing that was an absolute fact.

I am John Morrison, and trying to find someone better looking than me is like trying to find Bigfoot.

I guess you could call me cocky. I generally only use that term when I'm trying to bag the ladies. But John Morrison doesn't have to say anything else other than, "I'm John Morrison." in order to do that.

I guess I have a story to tell, so I should probably stop talking about my greatness. But if I did that, there wouldn't be a story, so I guess you're all just going to have to suffer through it.

Does John Morrison care if you suffer? No. You won't suffer nearly as much as I have.

Just like all stories, this one started off after a show. Well, kind of. I had just successfully defended my sexiness against an unfortunate looking man - Yes, Tommy Dreamer, I _am_ talking about you - and I was hoping to get back to the hotel to soak my sexy bones with a nice hot shower, preferably with a gorgeous woman.

That was not the case.

As I left the arena, I could feel every female eye catching the sight of me in normal clothes, appreciating every rippling step my legs carried me with. Fan girls cried and pleaded on the other side of the security fence, asking me to pity them, just this once, and sign something.

I stopped walking and turned to them, the bright light above them shielded by my sexy - and expensive - sunglasses. "You want me to sign something," I said flatly.

They all screamed.

I gave them a half-smile, walked over, and took their notebooks. They all waited in anticipation, wanting a signature from the Shaman of Sexy.

I threw them over my head as I walked away, listening to the papers smack against the wet ground, and back to the rental car that wasn't nearly as sexy as I wanted it to be.

I could hear them calling, screaming my name. I was used to it - ladies generally did that, on several different occasions.

The noises disappeared as I rounded the corner, behind one of the back buildings. I could see my car parked at the far end, next to Matt Hardy's. He was already in it, on his cell phone, driving away with one hand. I could see his brother in the front seat.

Two ugly brothers in one ugly car. That should've been against the law. If John Morrison was the Police Chief of whatever low-brow town I was in, the streets would be paved with sexiness, women would be allowed to walk around with no clothes on, and people would kill to be an apprentice at the Palace of Wisdom.

But since I didn't have the time, or the patience, I unlocked my trunk and threw my bag into it, hoping that I could find a lovely lady on my way back to the hotel. It wouldn't be hard - women came to, on, underneath, and with John Morrison like it was their national service to this country.

President Morrison always sounded pretty sexy to me.

I couldn't help but whistle as I made my way to the driver's side, twisting the key in the lock.

That's when something knocked into the back of my head.

And everything went black.

**A/N: How do you like it? I wanted to write a Dark Fic for a while, I just couldn't decide who to use... Well, John Morrison has been digging deep into my heart lately, so I figured he was the perfect candidate. Review if you please.**


	2. Chapter 2

I kept slipping in and out of consciousness. I had no idea where I was, or how I got there. It definitely wasn't the Palace of Wisdom. The Palace of Wisdom didn't smell like mold. I think I was alone, because all I could hear was my breathing. The only other noise I heard was a dripping sound - like a leaky faucet.

Wow, pretty scary, huh? Don't worry, minions, it gets worse.

I tried to open my eyes, but they were stuck shut. I could feel my eyelashes fluttering against something, something tight and made of fabric. And when I tried to move, to pull off whatever was covering my eyes, I found myself tied to whatever I was sitting on.

Now, John Morrison doesn't get scared. But he does get uneasy, and that's what I was at the time. Extremely uneasy.

I didn't have time for that, okay? I had to get back to my hotel and sleep with a beautiful woman before I boarded a plane and headed to another city for another show. That kinky shit wasn't in the cards for John Morrison.

I heard a door open in the back of my groggy mind. I still can't really remember most of what happened then. Why, you ask? Because I had just been hit in the back of the fucking head! Are you crazy?

But I think a door opened, and someone walked in - their shoes made a lot of noise. And it sounded like the floor was wet.

"Are you awake?" someone asked me, in a low and growly voice.

I was awake, but my brain was fucked harder than Maria's vagina, so I opted for not answering whoever it was.

"If you're awake, I'll take off the blindfold."

I felt myself licking my lips, tasting the blood dripping from the corner of my mouth. I didn't like the taste of it. Couldn't it be... I don't know, sweeter? I'm pretty sweet. You'd think it'd taste awesome, but no. It doesn't.

"Ah, so you are awake," he - or she - said quietly.

"Yeah," I grumbled. I could tell I was dizzy, even though my eyes were closed.

"Would you like me to take the blindfold off?"

"Sure."

They moved around me, their hands knotting my hair as they struggled to undo the bandana. Finally, I heard a swift click, then something sharp ripping through the fabric. It fell from my eyes, onto my lap.

"There? Is that better?"

I shrugged, pulling at my hands. The ropes sliced my wrists. "I'd feel better if you untied me."

"I can't do that, John."

I looked up as the person stepped around me. It was definitely a woman - and a _hot_ one besides! She had the biggest chest I'd ever seen - bigger than _anything_. She had a great ass, too. I watched her move around me, bending to look into my face.

I couldn't see hers, though. She had one of those silly Rey Mysterio masks on. Luchador masks, or something? Whatever. Nothing that lame exists at the Palace of Wisdom, so it was of no importance to me.

Her eyes were icy and green, like an emerald. They looked me up and down as she played with the switch blade in her hand. "How's your head?" she asked casually.

I frowned. "It hurts."

"Oh yeah?" She looked down, running her hand up my thigh. "Nice jeans."

I couldn't help but grin. "Thanks. They're - "

This I remember specifically. As I was doing my best Morrison smirk, this crazed lunatic flipped open her knife again and slashed it across my leg. It was so quick I didn't even realize it - until the fucking pain hit!

(Ha, look I'm a poet, too. Put _that_ in your pipe and smoke it, Jeff Hardy. Then you'll get released. And then you'll have no job.)

So anyway, I looked down and saw all this blood covering my expensive jeans. So I looked at this hot but insane lunatic and said, "What the fuck is the matter with you?"

She pouted. "Don't you like me touching you, John?" Her hand slid over the crotch of my pants as she talked, and I suddenly forgot about the gash in my leg.

I laughed nervously. "You're uh... pretty good at - "

She stood up and straddled me, sitting in the blood, and put her arms around my head, the knife twirling in my hair. "Don't you like it when a woman _caresses_ you?"

Guys, seriously. Her chest was like... _right in my face_. If I wasn't in Heaven, I was definitely experiencing enlightenment. "Oh yeah."

She bent down and basically stuck her tongue down my throat. She was good at everything she did - including cutting me. Hey, at least she knew what she was doing.

"Cut my hands loose," I said breathlessly, smiling up at her. "I want to touch you."

She laughed; rich, hearty, evil chuckles, with her head thrown back and everything. She stood up and placed her foot right on my fucking dick, giving me a good shove. My chair tipped back and I had no other choice - I fell with it.

I could feel my wrists snapping as I hit the floor. I barked in pain, struggling to break loose, glaring up at her in the harsh light. "You crazy fucking bitch!"

She smiled, stepping over my head. "That probably won't be the last time you say that to me."

I tried to look behind me, arching my back, watching her walk away upside down.

She turned in the door, fingers playing with the handle. She smiled. "It certainly isn't the first."

**A/N: Hmmm. Interesting. Perhaps she knows him? Things will be getting darker soon. Review if you please.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So no one likes that Matt story, so I'm gonna work on this for a while. But no one likes this one either, so it's a lose-lose situation for me! Yippee.**

So I was pretty sure my wrists were broken. Everything time I moved, a shooting pain went up my arm, but my hands were numb. I couldn't stand feeling so vulnerable. It wasn't like John Morrison at all. John Morrison was powerful and strong. John Morrison made women weak in the knees. He had them falling at his feet.

And now, it was the other way around. I was on my back - and usually, when John Morrison is on his back, he's not alone - and I was thrashing around, desperately trying to get my hands untied so I could beat this chick's ass before dragging her to the nearest police station.

I stopped moving and sighed, staring up at the bright light swinging from the ceiling. This was complete bullshit. I didn't have time for this. I should've been with a sexy lady right now, doing what John Morrison does, before I packed up my stuff and hopped on a plane to a different city. I shouldn't have been on a grimy floor, getting my hair soaked with whatever was pooling on the ground. I looked like fucking Johnny Nitro. (Why I ever wore my hair like that, I'll never know.)

I kicked my feet, knocking the chair legs against the concrete, making a noise that sounded like splintering wood. Maybe if I moved around enough, the chair would break and I'd be able to get myself up.

No, that was stupid. Fucking ridiculous. That was something JTG would've come up with. John Morrison could do something smarter than that. Because that's who I was - John fucking Morrison.

Maybe that girl didn't know who she was dealing with. I was the Shaman of Sexy. The Guru of Greatness. I lived at the Palace of fucking Wisdom for Christ's sake! I should've been able to figure out how to get untied. Believe me, this wasn't the first time a girl tied me up. (But at least that time, the rope was made of licorice. Don't ask. She was a weirdo.)

Maybe I could break through the rope with my stellar muscles. I mean, if I could pick up someone as heavy as Matt Hardy - and seriously, folks. The guy needs to lose some weight. - I could break through some twisted thread.

I braced myself, blowing out a breath. First, I needed reach some sort of nirvana. The power of the mind was greater than the kick ass muscles I had. So I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing, readying myself for the greatest execution in recent history.

Once I felt my mind and my body on the same level, connecting as one, I pulled my hands apart as hard as I could, but felt no tug, no tear, no nothing. I shook my head and kept my eyes closed, ready for another go.

This time the rope moved a little, and cut into my already throbbing wrists. I let out a bark and opened my eyes, trying my hardest to make it through the pain. I could feel my face flushing, the muscles in my neck bunching under my skin. The veins in my forehead were popping.

When my vision started darkening, I collapsed, bending my wrists into an even more awkward position. I tried to shift, but it just made it worse.

This was not cool. She knew how to tie rope, and she definitely didn't fuck up when she tied me to this goddamn chair. I thumped around, pissed out of my mind. I was sweating from the humidity in the room.

"You stupid cunt!" I bellowed, hoping she could hear me through some sort of vent. I didn't know where I was exactly, but it looked like a basement.

When no one answered, I threw all my weight to one side, hoping to move the chair. When all I did was wobble, I felt my anger boiling again.

"Did you hear me?" I yelled even louder, kicking my feet so my back bounced. "Untie me, you crazy bitch!"

Silence.

I screamed and hitched my shoulder across my chest, throwing too much into it. I toppled over, onto my cheek, and felt the hard floor scrape my glorious skin. This was even more painful than before. My knees were bent awkwardly and the chair was breaking my back into the shape it was. My wrists felt a little relieved, but I was pulling against the ropes, and the cuts were getting deeper.

I sighed tiredly - almost like a whimper - and closed my eyes. Maybe if I just went to sleep, this would all be over when I woke up. I could feel my stomach rumbling - it had to be the time I ordered room service and kicked the girl out. I would've killed to be able to do that right at that second.

My mouth opened because my breath was too shallow to go through my nose. The room was getting progressively hotter, sweat beading my forehead and sliding down between my brows, dripping onto the floor.

"Why is it so goddamn hot in here?" I screeched, feeling my lungs constricting. I could barely breathe. The room had a desert haze look to it, heat rippling in the light.

I grunted and rolled my eyes, swallowing the dryness. I couldn't even lick my lips. The moisture was being sucked out of me. I could feel myself starting to get lightheaded, the room spinning on a slight axis. My eyes were beginning to droop. I knew I was losing consciousness, and I couldn't do anything about it.

And frankly, I didn't want to. As far as I was concerned, if John Morrison died, it would've been better than this.

Just as the darkness was swallowing me up, sending me into a different place, I heard the door open, the knob cracking loudly against the brick wall.

I urged myself to open my eyes, looking up into the bright light coming from the hallway. Cold air seeped in, tickling my wet skin. My hair was matted to my cheek.

Her shoes clacked against the floor. "John, are you all right?"

That pissed me off. I struggled against the rope, baring my teeth. "Do I fucking _look_ all right, you stupid whore?"

She frowned, hands in her pockets. "Is that any way to talk to me, John?"

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?" I yelled, twisting my head to look up at her, my hair swinging heavily.

She smiled, eyes trained on the ceiling, and put her high heel against my stomach, giving me a good shove so I was on my back again. I hissed in pain and closed my eyes, but opened them quickly because I didn't trust her.

Her shoe dug into my skin as she leaned against her knee, looking down into my face. "Oh, John. You're so handsome. Why don't you like me?"

"I would like you better if you fucking untied me," I gritted, eyes narrowed on her pretty face. From what I could see, anyway.

She chuckled sinisterly, behind closed lips, and flipped out her knife, playing with the point. "I can't do that just yet, John. You might want to leave me, and I just can't have that."

"Why?" Maybe the understanding approach would work better. "I wouldn't leave. You're pretty sexy - I'd like to get to know you if you just cut these ropes. And maybe had my hands checked out."

She straightened and stepped over me, clicking around the room. "No, I don't think you would."

"Well... " I licked my lips, struggling for an answer that would please her. "Maybe if you took off your mask, I'd be able to see if you're as hot as your body is."

She threw her head back and laughed, so hard that it almost seemed fake. "Oh, John, you do know how to swoon a woman." She turned, the knife tracing sensual circles against her fingertips. "But you're just not trying hard enough."

I tried to clench my fists, but I couldn't. My wrists were definitely broken. "You're fucking insane! Just let me go!"

She shook her head. "No."

I wobbled. "Why can't you just untie me? I know enough not to fuck with you!"

"You will fuck with me." She came over and smiled, teeth shining as insanely as her eyes. "Just not yet. But don't worry - you won't be tied to a chair when that happens."

I bared my teeth in disgust, gazing up at her. "You're out of your fucking mind."

She shrugged and walked around me, hips swaying as she headed toward the door. "Maybe you need some more time to think."

"No, no!" I tried to move. "Please, don't leave."

"No, I think you need some time to yourself. Don't worry, I'll be back soon. We've got all the time in the world."

"You're crazy," I said quietly. "I'm a wrestler. A big wrestler working for an even bigger company. How long do you think you can keep me here? They'll figure something's wrong if I'm not where I'm supposed to be."

She grinned, laughing softly. "Poor, naive John. Why do you think so little of me?"

"Because you have me fucking tied to a chair!"

She clucked her tongue, closing her knife. "Honey, I've already dealt with your people. It's all taken care of."

"What'd you do?" I laughed slightly. "Find a stunt double?"

Like she could find anyone as good-looking as me.

She shook her head. "No. I said you were dead."

I felt the laughter bubbling out of my throat before I could even stop myself. It hurt my lungs, but it didn't matter. It just kept coming, until the upset look on her face subsided it. "You said I was dead?" A left-over chuckle escaped my lips. "How do you think you're going to get away with that?"

"It's real easy." She flicked the blade open, teeth and metal gleaming in the light. "You'll be dead soon, anyway."

**A/N: Ahh, that felt good to write. Review if you please. (Which you don't, so ha!)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: So, I officially hate Cryme Tyme. First of all, when you're paired with Kelly Kelly, I automatically hate you. Secondly, when you fuck up a qualifying match for Morrison, I lose my temper and start throwing things. Sorry, JTG and Shad. You used to be cool, but... well, do I really need to say Kelly Kelly again? It burns my fingers every time I type it.**

Instead of the room being extremely warm, it slowly spiraled down into a worse situation - freezing. She must've pumped the air like a mad woman, because I found myself shivering from the cold. Because I had been sweating from earlier, my skin started to glaze over, almost like frost. I could see my hair slowly ice over, strands caked with crystals.

When you fuck with my hair, that's when I get angry.

But when it's so cold that you can barely breathe, you can't really scream. So I just laid there, feeling my hair, my skin, the cuts on my wrists burn from the extreme change in temperature. My breath was coming out in condensed, white puffs, drifting up and up, barely dissipating before they hit the ceiling.

I shifted my feet against the concrete - the way I was laying really put them in an awkward position - and the sound it made was like an ice rink. I coughed, shuddering out air as my lungs constricted painfully.

I wanted to die. John Morrison didn't really matter anymore. If I had to live another ten minutes in there, I would've tried to kill myself. I thought about going to sleep again - if I froze to death, I wouldn't know. I would've slept through it all, and everything would be okay again.

These emo thoughts rarely crossed my mind - this was something CM Punk would do, not me. I wasn't like this. The only thoughts I had were sexy ones. But there was nothing sexy about this - and my thought process seemed to be shutting down, anyway.

I closed my eyes. That was the way to do it. I knew that it was going to be over soon, and frankly, I didn't care. Like I said before, anything would've been better than that. I figured... if it was time, it was time. There was no way I was going to get out of there, so it was better to just face the facts than sit around and pray for a miracle.

I think I actually fell asleep for a couple of minutes. My mind drifted off - I was too cold to dream anything, but believe me, my dreams are _hot_ - and I found myself in a comfortable space of unconsciousness. I was aware of what was happening, but I had no motor skills, and my body was shutting down.

"Oh, John," I heard someone say quietly.

Now, I thought my brain had started working, and I was having one of my incredibly wicked dreams about a beautiful woman, but the kick in my stomach kind of sent me back to reality.

I opened my eyes, barely slits, and stared up at my captor with hazy eyes.

She was glaring at me. "_I said_, John, it's freezing in here."

My lips were chapped, but I was afraid that if I licked them, they'd ice over. So I lifted my head slightly and rasped out, "No _shit_."

"That's no way to talk to me, Johnny."

I closed my eyes again. "I'm not... too used to talking to psychos."

She kicked me again, the tip of her shoe digging into my belly button. I barely had the energy to open my eyes, so I just sat there and bared my teeth when her foot connected with my side again. I hardly felt it, anyway - my body wasn't responding to touch.

"If you're nice to me, Johnny, I'll take you upstairs for something to eat." She had a coat on, and she pulled it around her body as she squatted next to me, right near my face. Her eyes were inviting, even with that stupid mask on. "Wouldn't you want that, honey?"

"What's the catch?" I whispered, resting my cheek against the frozen ground.

"No catch. Just me and you."

I grimaced, opening my eyes. "Will you check out my hands?"

"Why?"

"I think... " I swallowed the dryness at the back of my throat. "I think they're broken."

"Oh! Oh, Johnny, how terrible." She grinned and stood up. "Well, let's get you upstairs, and I'll see that you get the proper treatment."

She pulled the chair up, righting it, and I got a small case of dizziness just from that. The room looked like an icebox - water vapor drifted like low clouds, the visibility slim to none. I felt her walk around me, her hand sliding up my arm, over my shoulder, to my hands tied at the small of my back.

"You're really warm," I said quietly.

A swift click, the sounds of rope being sawed roughly. I could hear the smile in her voice as she said, "You will be soon."

She came back around me, throwing her leg over my lap, sliding into place. My hands dropped at my sides - I couldn't even flex my fingers. I looked up at her, relieved. "Thank you."

"Now, Johnny, you don't want to come back down here, right?" She trailed the cold blade against my cheek, right against the hairline.

I shook my head.

She leaned forward, her mouth touching mine. "Then be a good boy," she said huskily, the cherry color of her lipstick rubbing against my skin, "and don't do anything stupid."

She closed the knife against my neck, and I leaned away from it, swallowing hard. Once she was up and off of me, she held out her hand, waiting for me to take it.

I frowned. "My... I can't really - "

She sighed, grabbing a hunk of my hair. She ripped me out of my seat, my legs stumbling from the lack of circulation. I fell to my knees, but she jerked me up, dragging me toward the door. "You're already getting on my nerves, Johnny," she said in a sing-song voice, looking at me over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

She closed the door behind us and let go of my hair, grabbing my bicep roughly. She took me up a flight of stairs, into the kitchen of a nice looking house. It was small though, and very secluded - the windows I could actually see out of were covered by bushes and trees.

"Where are we?" I asked, looking around.

"It doesn't matter, John." She took me up another flight of stairs, to a door at the very end of the long hallway. It wasn't even really a hallway, but more of a loft. I looked at the floor below us, over the railing, as she walked me to the room.

"You can stay in here from now on, sugar." She kicked open the door and flipped a switch. The room was small, but it had a bed, a big bed, with a dresser in the corner. There weren't any windows.

"It's nice," I said flatly.

"Yes. We'll be sharing it." She grinned and pushed me toward the bed, laughing when I tumbled onto it because I couldn't use my hands to stop myself. "Oh, that's right. I have to look at your hands."

"Uh... Yeah."

She came over and sat next to me, crossing her legs indian-style on the comforter. She took one of my hands and ran her fingers over my wrist, noticing when I winced. "Does that hurt, Johnny?" she asked sadly.

I nodded. "Yeah."

She shook her head. "I don't think it's broken. Flex your fingers." She lifted her eyes, aggravated. "Johnny. I said flex your fingers."

"I'm trying!"

She furrowed her brow, taking my wrist in both hands, and twisted it. I yelled in surprise, hearing a distinct crack, and feeling a small pop. The pain was gone, just a little a soreness. "Dislocated," she said, bored. She took the other one and did the same thing. "Should be fine now."

I bent my fingers, nodding. "Thanks."

"You have wonderful hands, Johnny," she whispered, stroking my fingers. She pulled my arm, pressing my palm against her chest. "Such wonderful hands, Johnny."

And boy, did she have such a wonderful chest. I swallowed the spit in the back of my throat as she closed her eyes and ran my hand up to her neck, resting it there. I could feel her pulse.

"Your heart's racing," I said, licking my lips.

"It's because of you, John." She slid my hand down her chest again, underneath, past her stomach. She stopped between her legs. "It's all because of you, Johnny."

"Wow. Jesus." I couldn't breathe. This stupid bitch really had me fucked up. I hated her, but John Morrison could never turn down a beautiful woman, and despite her flaws, that's what she was. And I planned on taking full advantage of that.

My fingers brushed against her jeans and she let out a breath, quick and high. Her hand went up into her hair and I couldn't help but bite my lip in pure arrogance as her eyes slid shut.

"Do you like that?" I asked quietly.

She nodded, biting her fingers.

I leaned forward and captured her mouth with mine, sliding my tongue between her parted lips. My other hand went down and pulled at the button of her pants, but her hand came out of nowhere and socked me right in the eye. I did a backwards somersault off the bed, landing on my side with my palm pressed to my bruised socket.

"Johnny, are you okay?" she asked breathlessly.

I looked up, her head leaning over the end of the bed, and said, "No! You fucking punched my eye out. I can't even see!"

"Oh, Johnny, lighten up. It's just a little swollen." She got off the bed and fixed her shirt, heading toward the door. "And you're lucky. You stepped over the line. And next time, you won't get punched." She patted her back pocket. "You'll get cut."

My eyes shot to her pants, then up at her face, then down again. I tried to blink, but it was no use. It was swollen shut.

"Believe me, John, I can't wait to fuck you." She leaned against the door, her eyes sultry. "But just not yet. We have to get to know each other a little better, before anything serious happens. Is that all right with you?"

I nodded, pulling myself up onto the bed weakly. "That's... fine with me."

She smiled. "Great. Now, I'm going to make you something to eat, so... Just make yourself comfortable."

I watched her close the door, and the second she did, I looked around for any way to get out of there. There were no windows, but maybe their was a vent I could slip out of. Or a crawlspace. Something.

I was about to move the dresser, my hands braced against the edges, when the door opened again.

"Oh, and if you try anything funny, I'll cut your fucking dick off." She smiled and shut it again. I heard the lock flip.

I sat down on the bed. I figured the smartest thing to do would be to sit back and wait for her to feed me. I mean, if she did chop off the very essence of enlightenment to every woman I've ever slept with, it would be a universal crime. The gods would not be happy.

I felt like a pussy for listening to her, but I wasn't going to take a chance.

John Morrison was not going to go through life dickless.

**A/N: Hmph. I love John Morrison. Stupid Cryme Tyme. Review if you please.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Chapters a bit... explicit. Kinda. I don't generally write it, so it sounds super dirty to me. I don't know. JUST READ IT. :D**

The room I was currently held hostage in must've been converted from a crawlspace, because it wasn't insulated very well and every time the wind blew, it would slither through the cracks in the wall, ruffling my hair and sending goosebumps up and down my body.

This was the perfect time to get "warmed up", if you MoFos know what I'm getting at. If you don't, you are a loser, and should not be reading this. But if you do, you are a winner, and most likely not Evan Bourne.

Anyway, so I was fucking freezing again. The blankets that crazed lunatic had in the room had been there for a long time, since they were musty and already practically frozen. But I had a choice - sit in the open and freeze, or try to warm myself with the blanket and still be cold.

I opted for the sitting in the open - if I couldn't be warm, at least I'd be _clean_. Those blankets were nasty.

I sat on the edge of the bed, patting my thighs and marveling at the strength of them. I was a great-looking man - there was no denying it. I was reveling in my sexiness when I felt something vibrate in my pocket.

My cell phone? I still had my cell phone and I didn't even know! What the fuck. I quickly pulled it out and flipped open the screen, but all I saw was the background. That fucking... that fucking _freak_ took a picture with her on my lap when I was _unconscious_ and made it the theme of my phone. I threw it across the room, disgusted.

There were no bars, anyway.

The door to the room opened, and the crazed lunatic herself stepped in, wearing a shirt that I could see her nipples through. I kinda forgot who she was for a second and just stared, but she smiled at me and kicked the door closed, holding out a bowl of something steamy.

"What's that?" I asked, distracted, my eyes following her bouncing chest as she walked toward me.

"You said you were hungry, didn't you?" She slid next to me and put the hot soup in my lap, her hand lingering near my dick. I hissed out a breath and looked down her shirt. Her mouth near my ear, she whispered, "Eat your food, Johnny."

"Um, what is it?"

"It's soup. I made it myself."

I twirled the spoon around in it, seeing bits of vegetables floating around. It seemed harmless enough, and I was hungry as hell, so I shrugged it off and dug in.

She was licking her lips as she watched me, running her hand down her thigh seductively. "Do you like it, Johnny?"

I looked up at her, spoon between my teeth, and I watched the way her fingers roamed. She was horny as fucking shit. "Yeah. I like it a lot."

"That's wonderful, Johnny." She ran her hand up her neck, cupping the nape. "I aim to please you."

I dropped the utensil back into the bowl, splashing a little broth on my hand. "It's a little too... _hot_."

She bit her lip and moaned softly, looking at me with sultry eyes. "Oh, is it, Johnny?"

"Yeah." I pushed the hair off her shoulder softly, waiting for her reaction. When she closed her eyes, I leaned in, breathing, hesitating. "Way too hot."

"Johnny, can I let you in on a little secret?"

The way she talked made her throat contract and bunch, and the sinews looked like one good bite would send her over the edge. "Whatever you want."

She took the bowl from me, placing it on the floor, then slid off, onto her knees in front of me. She clawed at the waist of my jeans, unbuttoning the bottom three snaps of my shirt to get at my belt. Her eyes met mine and I just looked down at her, braced back against my hands, and watched her as she pulled at the buckle and unzipped my jeans.

Dear sweet Jesus! She was going to go down on me! This might've been the best hostage situation I'd ever been in. (Besides it being the only one.)

She groaned playfully when she caught sight of me, her eyes lifting. "So this is what all that talk of enlightenment was about, Johnny."

Her mouth closed around me and I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate on my breathing. She was damn good at what she did, and I found myself almost laughing at how good it felt. I watched her as she went up and down, up and down, her eyes opening and closing, the way her hands moved.

"Can you... " I stifled a groan, panting heavily. "Can you take off your shirt?"

She grinned, still doing her job, but lifting the hem up and over, leaving me subtly as she slipped it off. She went right back into what she was doing, and I couldn't believe at how skilled she was at this.

I swallowed the spit collecting at the back of my throat, my breaths becoming heavier, quicker, and I sat up and grabbed her hair, giving it a good tug. She moaned and looked at me, eyes clouded with lust.

"Let me come on your chest," I said breathlessly.

She sat back, sliding away from me, and grinned. "Who said anything about coming?"

I blinked at her. I swear to God if she just fucking blew air on me I would fucking explode. "What are you talking about?"

She grabbed at her shirt, pulling it back over her head. "You think I was gonna let you come?"

I watched her in disbelief as she sat up, soup bowl in her hand, and brushed herself off. Before she turned to the door, I shot up and grabbed her arm, pulling her back. "You can't let me just - "

She reeled back and hurled the hot soup at my chest. I could feel it seeping in through the fabric of my shirt, dripping painfully down my between my abs, and even lower, to my fucking dick. It felt like my skin was melting off, so I screamed and let go of her, ripping at my shirt to get it off my body.

She stood there, grinning, the bowl held up in her hand. "Does it burn, Johnny? Is it too _hot_ for you, Johnny?"

I quickly buckled my pants so nothing else would seep down there, then patted at my reddening chest with whatever part of my shirt was dry. I looked at her, my eyes watering from the pain. "Are you out of your fucking _mind_, you stupid cunt!?"

She smiled sinisterly. "Wrong answer, Johnny."

And she broke that bowl over my head.

**A/N: I'm a little worried that I enjoy hurting him as much as I do. :D Review.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: WOW SO SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING!**

My head was absolutely killing me. It actually felt worse than the night The Miz and I went out after a show and got so drunk I woke up in a hotel room with nothing on but a santa hat. The clothes - if they could even be _considered_ clothing - looked _vaguely_ like Little Miss I-slept-with-Mike-Knox Kelly Kelly's, so I decided to book out of there before I had a chance to find out if they were or not.

Now, my head felt like I'd been hit with a sledgehammer. With an ice pick attached to it.

But I couldn't touch it. I tried and tried and tried, but no matter what I did, my hand wouldn't move.

Holy Christ. I was paralyzed.

I opened my eyes.

The ceiling.

This doesn't seem right.

I turned my head, facing the dimly lit lamp next to me, and groaned at the tightening behind my ear. Something was definitely sprained, or broken. I couldn't remember what had happened, so it was hard to tell the extent of my damage.

I tried to sit up. Nope. That wouldn't work, either.

What in the hell was going on?

"Oh, Johnny."

I turned my head toward the doorway.

"You're awake."

I struggled a little. "Why can't I move?"

She licked her lips. "You were... I decided you're not to be trusted."

"What?" I tugged my arms, stopping to admire the way my muscles flexed under my skin. Damn, I was good looking. I looked back at her. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"That's your opinion, Johnny."

"No, it's not. It's fact."

"Why?"

"Because I'm John Morrison."

She smiled. "No, you're not."

I blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"Shut up." She slammed the door. "You've been bad, Johnny. I may never forgive you."

"What have I done?"

"That's not important. What's important is getting you back on the right track."

"The only track I see is the one-way trip down the center of my abs - "

And just like that, she punched me. One second she was by the door, the next thing her fist was breaking across my face, loosening a tooth and shooting spit into the air.

"Don't you fucking talk like that, Johnny." She leaned in closer, her mouth near my ear. "This is a big joke to you, isn't it, Johnny?"

"I don't even fucking know you, so yeah. It is."

She sat down beside me, stroking my cheek. "Does that hurt, Johnny?"

"Oh, _no_, it feels _so_ good."

"How about now?"

I literally felt my skin ripping away under her nails as she slid her fingertips down my face. The smell of blood hit my nose and I immediately regretted being a smart ass.

Did I really just think that?

I bit my lip from yelling, looking at her as my eyes watered. "That hurt. Really, really bad."

"Good. You deserve to be hurt."

"Why the sudden change of heart?"

She seemed to think about it for a minute, lifting her face to the ceiling and laying back against my legs. She sighed and shot her gaze toward me. "I forgot who you were in a moment of weakness."

"That's how it usually happens, baby - " I couldn't stop this scream from coming out. I could feel my eyes practically shoot out of my head as he elbow jabbed into tiny space between my knee cap and the bone. It popped and cracked, twisting to the side of my leg. "AH, FUCK!"

"But I'm strong. I fought you off."

"You just dislocated my fucking knee cap!"

"I'm gonna do a lot worse to you, Johnny." The flash of metal in her hand sent my heart racing. "And you're gonna watch it unfold right in front of your eyes."

I swallowed the spit collecting at the back of my throat. "Now?"

"Not now." The switch sound eased my nerves a bit. "But soon. Now, you'll sit and think about what you've done."

"What have I done?"

"That's for you to figure out." She stood up. "It's not my place."

"You really did something to my knee." I tried to touch it, but my legs wouldn't move either. "Make the pain stop, please? Make it stop."

"I've been waiting a lot of years to hear you say that." She put a heel up on my knee. "How's that feel, Johnny? Does that feel _better_?"

I hissed out a breath. "_No_."

She thumped it with her foot, and I felt the joint snap the cap back into place. It was like a wave of relief washed over me. "How about now, my sweet Shaman?"

I nodded, closing my eyes. "That's better. Thank you."

She scoffed. "I don't believe your lies. You're a piece of shit, and everyone seems to know that except for _you_."

"Who's everyone? You?"

"You're impossible." Her knife dug into my crotch so fast I almost yelped, but stopped myself. Any sudden movements and that blade was going right between ol' palace and wisdom. "Why can't you accept the fact you're just a fucking retard from East Asshole, California?"

"Because I'm not."

She pressed a little harder. "Wanna bet?"

"That's who I _was_. Not who I am."

"_Newsflash, Johnny_." She twisted the blade a little, slicing through my jeans like they were lace. "You are who you were, and who you are, you forever will be."

I grimaced at her. "What fucking shit are you smoking? That didn't make any sense."

"You know what doesn't make sense?" She sliced through the zipper. "Your fucking fame, your fucking fortune. Who is _John Morrison_? No one. You're no one."

"And who the hell are you? Some crazy fucking ginger kid that I probably made fun of when I was in high school because you asked me out on a date."

Her eyes narrowed. "Crossed the line, Johnny."

And then, right there, she crossed _my_ line, and... well, circumcised me.

Even though, you know - I was already circumcised.

If she had ripped each and every manicured fingernail off of my amazingly soft fingers and toes, or torn every follicle of my luscious and voluminous hair one by one, I wouldn't have screamed as loud as I did. It was the most excruciating pain I'd ever felt in my entire life.

Through the red haze that was quickly clouding my vision, I saw her come closer to my face, felt her soft lips press against my forehead. "I'll leave you with that," she murmured.

I couldn't talk. I was just breathing, in and out, in and out. And I was actually crying. _Crying_. John Morrison, the Shaman of Sexy, the Guru of Greatness, the Tuesday Night Delight, had tears running down his face like he was Kenny Dykstra after the Spirit Squad broke up.

"And Johnny?"

I could feel the vomit bubbling up to my throat, but I had enough strength to look at her, red eyes and all.

"Next time you fuck with me... " She ran the knife across her jugular, closing her eyes in ecstasy. "It's coming off completely."

**A/N: Aw, yeah. John Morrison rocks. Review.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait again. I apologize.**

I woke up coughing. I knew that if I opened my eyes, I'd have to deal with the fact that I was still being held hostage by that lunatic. So I tried to go back to sleep, but I just couldn't stop coughing.

Then I started choking.

On what, you ask?

I opened my eyes.

Blood.

I wasn't in the bed anymore. I wasn't in that room anymore. I was in a place I'd never been before. It looked a lot like the basement, but the walls were wooden and poorly put together. Snow was drifting in between the planks.

I was shirtless and frozen.

And tied to a chair.

I groaned. "This again?"

I thought we'd gotten over the whole chair thing. I thought she was going to be nice to me. She was feeding me, she was letting me sleep in a bed - yeah, I was tied to it. Big deal. With the girls I slept with, I was used to it. I thought she was warming up to me.

I looked down.

Oh. Right.

She tried to cut my dick off.

Guess she didn't like me too much.

I coughed again, watching a spray of blood hit the floor. I was beginning to feel light-headed. "Hey!" I pounded on the ground with my feet. "Can you hear me? Let me go!"

I licked my lips. I had no idea where I was, or where she was. Was she still pissed at me? Was she going to try to kill me? I had learned to expect the unexpected.

"Johnny, you're awake."

I looked over my shoulder, inhaling sharply when my neck tightened.

She came out of the shadows, her hands in the pockets of her winter jacket.

Did she have a gun?

I hoped she was just cold.

"Where am I?"

She laughed. "Aren't you tired of asking me that?"

"Aren't you tired of fucking with me?"

"Not in the least." She came around me, squatting so she was eye level. "How are you today, Johnny?"

"A little tied up at the moment."

She smiled slightly. "Hm. I'm glad you still have your sense of humor."

"It's all I got."

She nodded. "Yes. I'll be taking that away from you too."

I grimaced at her. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"You'll figure it out eventually."

"I don't even know you!"

"Yes, you do." She ran her nails down the side of my face, frowning at the healing scratches she'd given me before. "These look infected."

"Oh, really?" I jerked away from her. "Don't touch me."

"Now you don't want me to touch you, Johnny?" Her fingers trailed down my chest. "You liked it before."

"You're crazy."

"Doesn't mean I'm not good." She leaned forward, her red lips close to mine. "You should let me show you."

"What are you going to show me?" I moved my head back. "Go away."

"What are you gonna do if I don't?" She stopped at my jeans, grinning. "You're helpless."

"I'll bite you."

"I'll like it." She undid the button. "Do you like it when people bite you, Johnny?"

"No. Stop touching me."

"Make me." She pulled down the zipper.

I coughed again.

The blood.

"Why am I bleeding?"

She looked up frowning, and ran one of her fingers across the side of my mouth. "I don't know. Are your gums bleeding?"

"No, it's when I cough."

"Oh." She stuck her finger in her mouth, smiling. "You taste good, Johnny."

I gagged slightly. "That's disgusting!"

"Oh, you taste so good." She ran her hand down her neck. "So, so good, Johnny."

I thumped back against the chair, trying to scoot away from her. "You're a freak!"

Her hands gripped my thighs, keeping me stationed. "Just wait, Johnny. Just wait."

"What are you going to do?"

She quirked her brow. "You want me to tell you?"

I frowned. "Maybe not."

"I gonna undo your pants." She slid her hand up my chest. "I'm gonna pull them down." She gripped my hair. "And then I'm gonna fuck your brains out."

I swallowed hard. I could taste blood in my mouth. "What if I said no?"

"I know you'll enjoy it." She moved closer to my face. "You always did."

I narrowed my eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Shh." She kissed me softly. "Stop talking."

For once in my life, I was not turned on by this. My skin tightened as her hand went down to my pants again. I could feel her hot breath as she moved down, her fingers brushing lightly against stomach.

She glanced at me. "Are you enjoying this?"

I didn't really have an answer to that.

So I shot a wad of blood into her face.

She fell onto her ass and screamed, wiping it away hastily. I tried to get away - hop, thump, slide, _anything_ - but she was too quick, grabbing the legs of the chair before I went too far. "You think this is a game, Johnny?"

I tried to spit at her again, but she slapped me full on. I felt something in my neck crack.

"Do you think this is _funny_?" She was breathless as she sat down on my lap, hard. "You won't be laughing when I cut your fucking _dick_ off."

I turned my head away.

She bent into my neck, hushed breaths, and kissed just under my jaw. She moaned. "I won't do it yet, Johnny. I'm gonna enjoy you before I do anything that drastic."

"Stop!" I looked at her. "Get off me."

"Okay." She grinned and slid down my body, her lips trailing over my belly button, then lower. "I'll get off. And so will you."

"No." I struggled underneath her. "Stop it."

Her teeth scraped across my boxers. "Just relax, Johnny."

"No. Stop!" I swallowed hard when she tugged them down a little. "God, stop it."

"Mmm, keep pleading like that, Johnny." She slid her hands past the waistband. "Keep pleading."

I jumped. "Stop! Stop!"

"Keep going, Johnny." She groaned. "Keep it going."

"Stop it," I said weakly. "Please."

She looked up through her lashes. "What'd you just say?"

My lip was quivering as I closed my eyes. "I said stop it. _Please_."

She sighed and sat back on her haunches. Without another word, she stood up and disappeared into the shadows. I heard the faint sound of a door closing afterward.

I opened my eyes. "Hello?"

Silence.

What just happened?

I coughed again, the blood seeping through my teeth.

Was I dying?

I sure felt like I was.

**A/N: I am a sick bastard. Review.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Jim Morrison was kind to me all the way home, so I decided it was time again to be mean to his copy cat.**

I couldn't figure out that fucking chick. One day she's as sweet as pie, the next she's a ravenous beast and then sometimes she's a fucking kitten, scared and useless. I wanted to ask her why she had such bad fucking mood swings, but I hadn't seen her for a couple of days.

How long I'd been there was beyond me. It could've been a month, maybe two, or it could've been a week. I couldn't understand how no one had been looking for me... surely a fan had seen her ransack me. Mike had to wonder where I was-they couldn't possibly buy that story that I was dead.

Although I wouldn't be the first Morrison to die in his twenties.

I probably hadn't eaten in two or three days. My once chiseled stomach was smoothing out, but slimming. I could see my ribs poking against my arms, even when I was sitting normally.

I knew I was Godly, but I didn't want to look like Jesus. The guy did have pretty sweet hair, though.

I heard a door opening, but I didn't pay any attention to it. She'd been puttering around upstairs for a while, opening and closing cupboards and windows. It wasn't until the light filtered down the stairs that I looked up, saw her shadow pass the wall.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

I wanted to scoff and tell her to go fuck herself, but her normally harsh voice was liquid honey and sad. I turned my head. "Are you?"

Her silhouette laughed. "You can't sweet talk me."

"I'm not." I grunted. I could still taste blood at the back of my throat. "I'm just talking. My voice is naturally sweet."

She laughed again, a little more naturally, a little happier. She clopped down the steps in her high heels, leaving the door open behind her. She smelled like lilacs. "It's a bit musty down here."

"It is." I looked up when she came closer. "Can I go upstairs?"

She looked like she was really considering it. "I can't let you do that, Johnny."

Her face was smokin' hot, even behind that Lucha Libre mask, even behind that ugly wall she had up. "Why do you call me Johnny?" I asked.

"You've always been Johnny." Her fingernails ran down my face.

"So I know you?"

She shook her head and turned away.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

She sighed. "Johnny, I can't tell you."

"Why not?" I struggled against the ropes. "I won't press charges, I promise."

"Press _charges_?" She laughed. "Like you'll make it out alive."

"So you're planning on killing me?"

"I'm planning on destroying John Morrison. If you happen to die in the process, that's not my problem."

"What have you got against John Morrison?"

Her hands clenched. "_Everything_."

"Is it my arrogance? My good looks? Is it - "

"It's not _you_." She came over and knelt down, eyes blazing. "It's not _you_. You're _not John Morrison_."

"Who am I, then?"

"John Hennigan." She rubbed her hands up and down my thighs. "You were born in So Cal - LA, to be specific, on October 3rd, 1979."

My heart was blasting out of my chest, not because she was touching me, but because she was _touching_ me. Her hands were so warm and her words were tight, like she swallowed a knife sideways.

"You're not John Morrison," she whispered. She stood up. "I have to go."

"No, wait - "

She paused, like she knew I was going to stop her.

"Can you... stay? It... _I'm_ pretty lonely down here."

She turned her head. "Can you keep a secret?"

I swallowed hard. "Depends."

Her knife sliced the air. "You're not down anywhere."

I blinked, my lungs contracting as she neared, wielding that pocket knife, closer and closer, dragging it down my skin, my arms, my wrists...

She slid it through the ropes like butter, and my hands were free.

* * *

"Can you tell me where we are?"

She smiled as we kept walking, the trees beside us so lush, so green. "I can't, but you know what I can tell you?"

"What's that?"

"I'm sick of wearing this mask." She fluffed her hair. "It's so damn hot."

"Take it off," I whispered.

She looked at me and took a step ahead, keeping her pace.

I stopped and ran my hands down a tree trunk, thick with age. "Thank you."

She stumbled. I'd finally caught her off guard, her foot catching a tiny branch sticking out of the mossy earth. "For what?"

"For letting me outside." I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes. "For letting me breathe."

I scoffed slightly. "You're such a fucking poet."

"I am." I lifted my gaze, found her staring at me. "Did you know that?"

"I did." She leaned back against a tree. "I've read some of your stuff - it isn't bad."

"Thanks." I gave her a sideways smile, gazing up at the magnificent branches twisting above it. It filtered the light, shone diamonds down onto us. "The sun feels great."

"You've been cooped up in that house." She was beside me suddenly, her warmth emulating as our shoulders touched. "It's a wonder you didn't go insane."

"I almost did. I felt like I was dying." I coughed, tasted metal. "My throat's still bleeding."

"Bleeding?" She turned me, pulled my face down, forcing through my teeth. She peered inside, frowning. "Your throat's not bleeding."

"Then it's something more serious." I smiled around her fingers.

She slid her hands down my jaw, past my neck, against my chest. Maybe it was the clear air or the shining sun, the blue of the sky or the green of the woods, but she was so beautiful right then, crystal eyes reflecting light, hair on fire.

I bent down and kissed her.

She sounded so sad, a small grunt, disapproval. She pulled back and opened her eyes. "I don't want to kill you," she whispered.

I kissed her again. What a fool I was, drunk on a crisp day, stupidly loving the way her fingers felt against my skin. She wasn't someone I was trying to seduce, someone I was trying to fuck.

I just wanted her.

I lifted my head, my hair against her face, and blew on her nose playfully. "Yeah, we're falling through wet forests," I crooned, my fingers dancing up. I started pulling at the ties of her mask. "On our moonlight drive."

Her eyes snapped open.

"On our moonlight - _fuck_!" I flew back, tripped over a knotty root, falling against the moss. There was blood on my shirt.

The flash of metal. Her hands were shaking.

"Don't ever do that," she gritted.

I lifted the soaked material, feeling my stomach churn when I caught sight of the two inch gash. The knife fell, blade down, between my legs.

I looked up as she stepped over me. "Where are you going?"

"Home." She was tightening the strings on her mask. "Have fun finding your way back."

"What are you - " I tried to sit up, but I was tugged back down. The knife that had fallen had caught the edge of my pants, nailing me to the roots below me.

I got it out easily, but when I stood up, my head started swimming. The cut on my stomach was worsening, the forest was darkening and I had no idea where she went.

She didn't want to kill me. And it wouldn't be her fault if I died right there, crumpled against the tree that didn't look so beautiful anymore.

I just wish I had gotten to see her face before it happened.

**A/N: Morrison, a romantic? It's possible. He's fucked up anyway. Review.**


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